


It feels good to get something back.

by Missy_dee811



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Avengers: Endgame (Movie), Avengers: Endgame (Movie) Spoilers, Depression, F/M, Gen, M/M, Male-Female Friendship, Natasha Romanov Feels, Natasha Romanov Has Issues, Non-Linear Narrative, Not Actually Unrequited Love, Not Avengers: Endgame (Movie) Compliant, Not Canon Compliant, POV Male Character, POV Steve, POV Steve Rogers, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Steve Rogers & Natasha Romanov Friendship, Time Travel Fix-It, Work In Progress
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-14
Updated: 2019-09-14
Packaged: 2020-10-18 05:41:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,240
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20634011
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Missy_dee811/pseuds/Missy_dee811
Summary: Five years is a long time. After half a decade of drudgery, opportunity comes knocking, quite literally.





	It feels good to get something back.

**Author's Note:**

  * For [XtaticPearl](https://archiveofourown.org/users/XtaticPearl/gifts).

> The title of a reference to this [poem](https://poets.org/poem/future-here). 
> 
> This is an Endgame fix-it. I've been thinking of this story for several months. I waited several years for a time travel plot to make its way to the MCU, and I wasn't disappointed. However, I'm ignoring everything the directors/writers/actors have said after the fact, and I suggest you do too. If it wasn't in the movie, it's irrelevant. 
> 
> I will be updating the tags and the rating as need be. 
> 
> As always, a special thanks to my beta.
> 
> (I apologize for the wall of text, I will be fixing that.)

It had been some time since he had driven up to see her. It hadn’t always been the case. In those early days, he used to drive up whenever the thought occurred to him. It didn’t matter how late it was or what day of the week, she was always awake when he arrived, and on those days she wasn’t there - rare, indeed - FRIDAY would welcome him. She spoke less these days than Steve remembered. Had it been so long, or had it been something she inherited from her creator? He couldn’t know for sure and he was not enough of a fool to ask.  
The drive, in those early days, was a fraught silence. There were too many unsaid things. He mulled those over in his mind on the hours it took to escape Brooklyn Heights and make his way to the riverside compound.  
He kept Tony’s arc reactor. First, he kept it in the glove compartment. It made sense, then. He was intent on returning it to Tony, or more likely, Pepper or Rhodey. He hadn’t. Not then, and not now. Though he had moved it from its secure hiding place. But then, he had left it in the glove compartment. His intention eminent. Speak with Tony and return what’s his.  
These days, it seemed as if he had shut away his intentions, leaving them tucked behind a door and a seal, as if they could harm anyone else if they were out and about. As if they could act of their own accord, or without him. Neither was true, of course. Steve had chosen not to see Tony, and Tony, for his part, had made it clear he had no intention of returning to the compound, to the Avengers, or even, to Steve.  
They couldn’t undo the clock. However much he thought they could. They couldn’t.  
If he didn’t give it back… Well, it wasn’t like Tony was going to come and get it. He had been clear, had stated his intentions when he peeled it off his sallow skin and stuffed it into his open hand. Aghast, everyone had been, watching the drama unfold, unsure of their part in it. Rhodey would always have Tony’s best interests at heart. He had saved him once before. He knew his friend wouldn’t die. Carol, new to the group, and unsure of what had transpired between them all, only looked to help. Natasha had been there, too, and she had also left, but his anger wasn’t directed as her.  
Then again, she hadn’t been the one to suggest they stand together. No plan of attack just unison. Back then, he had conviction. But now?  
The arc reactor was a weight in his hands. Perhaps, it was the weight of his guilty conscience. Steve felt Tony’s cold, dry hands on his. He had half-whispered, “You find him, you put that on, you hide.”  
It had taken too many years, but finally, he listened.  
He hid.  
He hid far away.  
He hid back in his bed, back in his Brooklyn studio.

He had always loved this neighborhood, though he could scarcely see himself living here. Surely, less so, after the Decimation. He had known this place once, when he was young, but that, too, was so long ago. He had bought the apartment at Pepper’s behest. She had changed his mind. Pepper had been in town for work, and it had been easier to call her. She said she was available, and if he didn’t want to go into the city, they could Skype. She had said she was always available, would speak to him whenever he liked, and would always be there if he needed her help. He trusted her when she said those words, and knew she meant it. She had always been kind to him, had always been willing to listen.  
Who else was there?  
If she had been around, he would’ve asked Sharon, but he couldn’t think of that now.  
Pepper answered immediately and as soon as he told her he was going to put an offer on an apartment, she left her office, got in the nearest cab, and made her way downtown. When she stepped out of the cab, Steve didn’t know what to say.  
They had never discussed Tony. They had never discussed her life outside of her work. There was no need. If anything had changed, if she had wanted to share anything, nothing was stopping her. Steve wasn’t going to overstep his bounds. Instead, they talked about her work. They talked about the company. She would mention Rhodey. She would ask about Natasha and Bruce.  
Their phone calls were short and sweet; to the point.  
It had been some months since he had seen her in person, and when she got out of the yellow cab and turned to face Steve, Steve hadn’t known what to expect, but certainly not the pregnant woman that approached him. He congratulated her, knowing little else to say. She readily accepted and congratulated him.  
They didn’t discuss it. They didn’t discuss the rings on her left hand either. They didn’t discuss how happy she looked, how she glowed. Steve didn’t know what to say and she seemed much more interested in looking at the property. It was only when her feet started to hurt and she sat down and took off her heels, that she mentioned her condition.  
“Tony always tells me to dress comfortably, but he doesn’t understand that, for the most part, this is comfortable.”  
“How is he,” asked Steve, before he could stop himself.  
“A nervous wreck,” she said, with a small laugh. “She’ll be here soon.”  
_She?_  
They were having a girl. Tony would be a loving and doting father. He knew.  
“You know,” he said, and Pepper looked up to meet his eyes. She had always been beautiful.  
“I had asked Tony once if you were pregnant, but you weren’t together at the time. I’m glad to see it happening now.”  
She smiled.

Tony had left Steve with all his best cards, all still in hand, and very much in play. If Steve was too much of a coward to play them, thinking Tony’s hand was much better, Tony could win if he had drawn the right cards. If he still had an arsenal at his disposal. If his hand was no better, or worse yet, an unlucky draw, Tony would be at a loss. Yet, the power rested in Steve. It was his turn and he had been given an advantage.  
And for that reason, it was a no-win. Even if Tony won the game, he still wouldn’t want to talk to him, and if he had given Steve a sure-fire way of winning, with no back-up in place for himself, he had assured his own destruction.  
Wasn’t that where this had started?  
Mutually assured destruction in that Siberian bunker. He hadn’t called him a liar then, but perhaps, he should have.  
Why had he thought it was a good idea to ask Tony all those questions? Why had he thought it was a good idea to ask him about Thanos, to ask him about the Stones? Why had he thought he’d want to discuss any of that when he came back from space and the first words he said were, “I lost the kid.”  
Why had he thought anything else mattered?  
_Arrogance._

Some days, he didn’t recognize himself. Well over a hundred, it was time for the white to show in his blond hair, but looking in the mirror unnerved him. He didn’t think much of it, instead he washed and shaved his face before a quick shower. The good bagels would be sold out if he got there any later. He settled in the driver’s seat. The drive didn’t take nearly as long as it once did. He brought with him those bagels Natasha loved from that bakery in Astoria. He always made a pit-stop before getting on the highway.  
She didn’t come into the city anymore, choosing to stay at the compound, thinking it would be remiss of her to leave, even for a short period of time. But in the early days, when she ventured into the city, she’d insist on having bagels in the morning for breakfast, and so Steve had learned it best to keep one or two in the freezer, just in case she showed up in the middle of the night, before he had time to sneak out and get a dozen.  
This time, he had a dozen fresh bagels. He tried to bring her a variety. This time, he had with him plain, whole wheat, sesame, garlic, and poppy seed. Though the sesame was mostly for him.  
“You always eat those first,” she had said as she took a bite of the poppy seed bagel she had toasted and slathered with cream cheese.

The aroma brought a small smile to his face. He had stated bringing bagels to the support group meetings. It brought more people to them. It was easier to speak about awful, painful things when comfort food was readily available. The everything bagels were the first to go, followed by plain and cinnamon raisin. Some days, no one would eat, but on others, there wasn’t enough to go around. He didn’t mind taking home the leftovers, if it came to that. These days, that rarely happened. It seemed, all in attendance, knew he’d come in with bagels and muffins, coffee and tea, and enough milk and cream for all who wanted.  
Sam would’ve been proud of him. At least, he hoped. On bad days, it was that thought that kept him going, kept him moving.  
Natasha would be proud, too. He wasn’t holding back from saying the things he should have said. He wasn’t bottling up his fears and his regrets. With her, it was easy to sit down and talk. With her, it was easy to say the things he knew he shouldn’t but couldn’t help but think. With her, it was easy to seem a little unhinged. Truth was, he had accepted. Accepted that this was the world in which they were living. There were still those they could help. There were still those who wanted, and needed their help, but it no longer hinged on them. It no longed hinged on them winning.  
That weight was gone and it was such a relief.  
He hadn’t felt this kind of relief before. It was unsettling, at first, now it was just strange.  
He and Sam had spent a lot of time with Natasha, those years they were running from Ross and running their own ops. She had seen him at his best and she had seen him at his worst. There was nothing for her to fear and there was no reason for him to be afraid. They had spent a lot of time together, especially when they were on-the-run. He wasn’t holding back his intentions anymore. He knew, it was a lesson that had taken him much too long to learn, but was worth learning nonetheless.

These days, the drive to the compound was quiet, but in a different way. He wasn’t lost in his thoughts anymore. He had settled into a companionable silence with himself. Some days, he turned on the radio, spending the drive chasing the commercial-free segments. On others, he listened to an audio book or a podcast. On others, he watched the buildings turn into trees as he left the city.  
There was so much to learn, so much he wanted to understand. All the years he had lost weren’t coming back. He knew there were so many others like himself. People who, in a moment’s notice, lost everything and everyone they once knew and loved. They, too, had moved on. It was a sobering thought.  
He only shared those with Natasha. She was the only one who understood. She was the only one who didn’t tell him to look on the bright side, as he so often reminded the members of the support group to do. In her presence, he could lament and she would understand. She, too, had her regrets. Namely, a certain archer who had gone off the grid. She’d offer to play a card game or to throw back vodka shots. They only ever affected her, but Steve never said no. He knew what it was like to drink alone, and he had appreciated the company then, so he knew she did too.  
Sometimes, she drank until she couldn’t stand, and Steve would walk her back to her room, feigning he couldn’t see her cry as she settled on her pillows.  
“Did we do this?” She’d ask, over and over. Some days, Steve didn’t know to which event she referred, and the knowledge that it could be more than one, was enough to keep him up that night.  
_Was it their fault Thanos had come looking for the Stones? Was it their fault they were scattered across the galaxy? _  
_Was it their fault so many had perished?_  
_No._

When he arrived, he heard her talking to the others. It was near the end of their call. There was nothing new to report. He knew. They all did, but Natasha insisted. Insisted on having these monthly calls, insisted on having this line of communication open and accessible to all. It was her way of coping, they all knew. However, he couldn’t hate her for it. After all, Tony had warned them, had spent years telling them they needed to think bigger, to look further. Now they could. Nebula and Rocket were in space, as was Carol. And, it was in everyone’s best interest to stay in the loop.  
Natasha knew that. She had spent more time off the grid, running, and in hiding than anyone else. She traded in information. She relied on knowing and understanding to gain a footing, to gain traction.  
On the drive to New Jersey, she had once told him, “The truth is a matter of circumstances, it's not all things to all people all the time. And neither am I.”

Nebula and Rocket had signed off, as had Okoye. Carol followed suit, but not before wishing Rhodey the best on his quest to find Clint. Steve brought in the groceries and set them on the kitchen counter. He heard Rhodey telling Natasha it was no use bringing in Clint. He had been off the radar for too long, he was too far gone, and bringing him in, at this point, would only do more harm than good. Natasha said she just wanted a word with him. He was her best friend. She just wanted a word with him.  
It would’ve been a low-blow, if she had sounded so earnest.  
Rhodey signed off but made no promises.  
Steve came into the room. She had her head in her hands. He took note of the ballet shoes on the chair next to her and wondered when she had last danced. When he had been staying at the compound, they would spar. Preferring to have the company of someone else than go about their workout alone. At times, Steve would find her warming-up, or already in the middle of a dance. On those days, he watched. He watched the way she moved. The way she commanded attention. He wondered if she had ever danced, or if it had all been a cover. Teach a class of young girls how to pirouette, and in the evenings, how to carry out assassinations.  
Would she have been a ballerina if the world of espionage hadn't devoured her?  
She fought the way she danced. He could see it now. Her fights against the Chitauri, and most recently, Proxima Midnight, came to mind.  
“Do you miss it,” he asked.  
She finished her pirouette and turned to face him. “I try not to think about it,” she said. She reached for her water bottle.

“We should talk,” he said.  
It had been awhile since they’d last seen each other. Been awhile since he had last been in the compound. It was quiet. There were a few birds chirping in the courtyard, but once the conference call had ended, only Natasha’s sobs echoed through the great room.  
Steve looked around. This was the hard part. The part in the middle - in the middle of the disorder, when it all seemed impossible. Beyond impossible, it seemed pointless. The dishes would be dirty the next time you used them. There would always be more laundry to wash, to fold, and to put away.  
It was hard to see her like this. Natasha had always been tidy. She kept things in order. Over the years, she had loosened up. She no one longer washed the dishes immediately after using them. She no longer put away her laundry after folding it. She left her files scattered across the table, she left her ballet shoes on the seat next to her, and she left her discarded sandwich to her left as she cried.  
It would’ve been strange to come into this home and find her this way if he hadn’t known. If he hadn’t known it was a mirror of his own apartment. He too had been tidy, he too had washed the dishes just after using them, and he too had put away his laundry right after folding it. These things no longer seemed to matter. Hours stretched into days and days stretched into weeks. The seasons changed, the days shortened, the temperature dropped, and all continued. Continued unabated and unobstructed by such trivial things. And yet, he felt broken. As if some invisible timer had stopped.  
There was a wound he couldn’t find, a wound he didn’t know how to heal.  
The first step was helping her.

“The drive up was nice. The Hudson’s cleaner than I’ve ever seen it,” said Steve.  
Natasha looked up, ignored the tear on her cheek, and glared at him. “If you’ve come here to tell me to look on the bright side, I’m going to jump over this table and kick your ass.”  
“I’d love to spar with you, if you’re into that sort of thing - the jumping over objects and kicking ass kind of thing.”  
“Some days, I swear I hate you,” she replied.  
She shook her head. Pushing her hair to one side, she started to braid it.  
He smiled and took the seat in front of her, watching her fingers move. “I know, he said. Softer. He wasn’t teasing anymore.  
The silence that followed was unlike the silence into which he had walked. It carried no burden. No displeasure. She finished braiding her hair, and before heading to the gym with her, Steve pointed to the bag of bagels he had brought with him.  
“For later,” he said. She grinned.  
“If you win, you get to have the first sesame bagel. If I win, it’s mine,” she said.  
There was that look in her eyes he had missed. The determination to win. Just then, a message popped up.

“Looks like there’s a message from… No. It can’t be…”  
She trailed off. _He had been one of the one billions of people who had turned to dust. How could it be?_  
Steve turned to look at the video. “Is this live? Or is this prerecorded?”  
“No, it’s live. That’s the front gate. Go, let him in. It’s Scott.”


End file.
